Open Mic, 9:47 P.M.
A poem about the hour when everybody has heard enough and nobody has gone home.
WHY IS THIS IN THE FILE?
Nobody took responsibility quickly enough.
the host says
we have time for three more
which means seven
the man beside me
has been holding
the same warm beer
since the first divorce poem
someone near the back
is asleep upright
with professional concentration
the microphone smells
like thirty-seven people
believing this is the one
a woman reads
about her father’s hands
and suddenly
the room behaves
even the ice machine
behind the bar
waits
then somebody’s phone
begins playing
the opening bars
of “Sweet Caroline”
no one claims it
for nine seconds
we are a nation
united
against one pocket
the woman finishes
we clap too hard
the host says
beautiful
the sleeping man wakes
and claps too
having missed
the only thing
worth staying for
Ellis Crowe
Poet and field recorder of buses, readings, waiting rooms, bad microphones, and other public situations that outlive their dignity.
STATUS: UNRULY
“Normal” was considered and rejected.
KNOWN ASSOCIATES: readers, loiterers, people who should know better.
PUSH THE WEIRD BUTTON
A clerk has been notified. They are furious.